


It Was Just like a Movie, It Was Just like a Song

by SherlocksSister



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 2038, Based on an Adele Song, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Older Characters, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksSister/pseuds/SherlocksSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a long journey this week, I was listening to Adele's album '25' and this story popped into my head, pretty much fully formed as I listened to the track "When We Were Young". </p><p>Set post TAB, John and Sherlock have not met for 22 years and both have changed. They are brought back together by one event and one person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Just like a Movie, It Was Just like a Song

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDpCv71r-0U>

You can listen to Adele singing here

 

 

Sliding in quietly, closely following a couple through the double door, Sherlock regretted his decision to come tonight yet again. The generic hotel function room was bland and identical to several others he had been to in recent weeks, already filling with people taking their seats at the round tables. He deserves so much better, thought Sherlock. I would take him to the Palace. Tonight, though, was to be different, he had promised. He was going to stay at this function, tolerate the crowd of pointless idiots and not slip out again as soon as the presentations had been made, speeches given. Tonight, he was going to talk to John, if it killed him.

Sherlock considered it just might do that but it would be a good way to die.

The dull ache in his arthritic left shoulder should have been enough to distract him from his nerves but it was now such a constant that he barely registered it. All John’s focus was on the man sitting with his back to him, alone amongst all these people.

It had been so long and still John was drawn to him, irresistible. John had only had to glance once as he walked in the door to find him, like he was the only person in the room.

Deciding to steady his nerves, John progressed to the bar, keeping his head down and close to the wall, smiling an occasional hello to a familiar face but tucking himself on a stool behind a pillar. He ordered a double scotch with ice and forced himself to look around at the other people filling the large conference room.

The scotch was gone and another ordered in rapid succession. He reminded himself to take his time with this one, he had all night and John really didn’t want things to end the way they had the last time he had attended one of these functions. Blinking rapidly, he shoved away that uncomfortable memory.

It didn’t last, of course, this refuge, it never did these days. A hearty slap on the back, a handshake, a fresh drink and John was back to his well-practised performance. Gratitude mixed with modesty, self-deprecation with warmth. It came so easily to him, even he was nearly convinced by its genuineness. Skating a glance over the broad shoulders in front of him, he almost smiled at the idea that at least tonight he wasn’t the only person in the room who would know it was all faked.

Time has been kind to him, John thought, kinder than it has been to me. Twenty two years, a lifetime. Of course, if anyone asked him he would pretend to calculate it, work it out, make a big show of not knowing. In truth he knew how long it was to the month. Practically to the minute.

A new handshake, another round of congratulations and another drink. More smiling and pretending while stealing glances over shoulders, between gaps in the growing crowd.

Yes, time has been very kind. The exact same unruly curls, now silvery grey but no sign of thinning and worn just as long as always. His frame was a little gaunt, obvious to John despite the immaculately tailored suit. A woman leaned in now to talk to him and as she did Sherlock turned his head to nod, smile up at her and answer her question and John was astonished at the side view of the once so familiar face. The jaw line and astonishing cheekbones were still there and the gentle golden lighting of the function room’s chandeliers erased the lines that surely must be there. You look like a movie, John thought to himself, still beautiful.

The group around John was getting larger and noisier until suddenly, the crowd parted like a wave and in front of him was his precious Eva, glorious in her midnight blue lace dress. She came and hugged him tightly, kissing him gently on the cheek and simultaneously taking in the four empty glasses, slightly flushed cheeks and tension behind his eyes. She squeezed his hand lightly and ordered two sparkling waters, effortlessly taking over the hand shaking, collecting of congratulations and skilful deflection of personal questions.

Then there was Greg. John stood from his bar stool for the first time and enfolded the man, finally glad to see an old friend in the melee. Greg leaned in and whispered “I didn’t know he was going to be here either, thought he was still in France. I would have warned you”. Greg kissed the beautiful young woman’s cheek “Hello my darling” and returned to John’s side.

“Does she know?” he murmured.

“Every single thing”.

Greg smiled “Good”. He didn’t offer to get John a drink, knew better, but did down a large one himself, surveying the crowd. This was the last one of these functions, the largest of them all and it was only right Sherlock was here.

Despite the last ten years in anonymity and living as a virtual recluse, there were still plenty of people here who remembered Sherlock Holmes. Acquaintances, well-wishers and fans all drifted to his table. He spoke to them all but none were invited to sit and join him. Sherlock was alone in this crowd.

Deliberately sitting with his back to the ever-growing swarm around John, Sherlock scrutinised him in the reflection of the darkened window, taking his time to soak up all the details; the new suit which now brought the tally to four, but this one different to the rest, expensive and clearly made to measure, the navy matching the colour of John’s eyes. His hair was thinner but not altogether gone and there were a good few extra pounds around the midriff but that was only to be expected, after all, John was not short of people to take care of him. John’s face, now deeply lined, fascinated him the most, as he observed every nuance and change in expression. John’s exquisite face.  John did not really want to be here, he deduced, he’s only here to make the young woman happy, has already had too much to drink but would dearly love more. Sherlock resisted the urge to run his hand over his own face.

As he watched, Sherlock saw Greg Lestrade and the young woman deep in conversation and they seemed about to make their way over to Sherlock when an announcement from the stage interrupted them, asking them to all take their seats. A tall, elegant woman walked to the centre of the stage set up at one end of the room.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, could I please have your attention. As you know, we shall shortly be serving a celebration dinner but before that, as Mayor of London, I have a few words to say. We are all here this evening to show our gratitude and deepest respect to one man. His has been a life of service, firstly as a soldier and secondly as a doctor. None of that can compare to the service he has given to our beloved city this year. As you are all acutely aware, in a single selfless act, he saved the lives of over 9 million people. He walked into a situation from which he did not expect to survive and in doing so, prevented those terrorists from detonating the warheads aimed at Glasgow, Leeds, Birmingham and, of course, our London.  

There is nothing that we can do or say that will ever repay that debt, of the lives – our lives – saved. No gift can reflect the gratitude we owe this brave man, no words can match what he has done for us, yet we have to try. Already lauded by those other cities, by the British Army and of course by His Majesty, Ladies and Gentlemen will you please be upstanding and show your appreciation for Sir General John Watson”.

The crowd rose to their feet, clapping and shouting, whistling and stomping their feet as John and Eva made their way through the tables to the stage. The Mayor presented John with a large, ornate key, representing the freedom of the city of London he had been granted. He went to shake hands with the woman but was startled by a hug before being directed to the podium and its microphone.

The deluge of noise calmed and settled as John waited to speak.

“Thank you, all very much. I appreciate you all being here, your kind words and this gift, but I need to make one thing very clear. I am no hero. I did what any one of you would have done if you had been in that situation. It just happened to be me that was there.” John’s eyes searched the crowd “Many years ago, a better man than me gave up his life so that I could be safe. As some of you know, it turned out to be a more complicated than that, but I decided a long time ago that I would live my life to deserve that sacrifice”.

John left the stage to more thunderous applause. At the request of a bank of photographers he stood and posed, smiling and holding up the key. Slowly, every one turned back to their tables, drinking and laughing. Needing a moment to himself, John whispered to Eva and headed to the bathrooms.

In the dimly lit corridor, a figure sat half hidden in shadow, one leg crossed over the other. John instantly recognised the silhouette.

“Hello Sherlock. I didn’t expect to see you, I thought you were living in France now. Thank you for coming. It’s all a bit overblown, don’t you think?”

“Not at all John, you deserve it all. Of course I came. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world”.

John was stood in front of Sherlock now and put out his hand in invitation. God, he had missed that voice. Sherlock stood to shake his hand and as he did, his face became fully illuminated and John was able to see the scar that ran down the right hand side of Sherlock’s extraordinary face, from above his eyebrow down to his jaw line, an angry, red mark.

John paused just for moment. The last twenty two years had changed him, the past year in particular. John Watson no longer held back on what he wanted to do or say, it had only caused him pain and regret in the past. He had once again looked death squarely in the face and made himself a promise that day. He reached up and very gently stroked the face of his old friend, tracing the line of the scar.

“What happened?”

“Knife attack.  A foolish error of judgement and I was cut. It took two days before I was found and infection had set in, which is why the scarring is so bad. My own fault. At least my eye was saved. I have some sight loss but can function”.

“You were alone?”

Sherlock too had changed. He had spent twenty two years unsuccessfully trying to forget this man, accepting his mistake and learning to live with his decisions. This was his last chance and he knew it.

“Yes. I have been alone since the day I sent you away”.

In the past, John would have bowed his head at the painful memory. That awful, terrible day when John had shot his treacherous, lying assassin wife as she pointed a gun at Sherlock, come to finish the job she had started now the baby was born. Afterwards, John had gone to Sherlock, begged to come home, him and his infant daughter. Sherlock had turned them away, said he was moving to France and that Mycroft was already on his way to help John start his new life. Now he looked Sherlock straight in the eye.

“I know why you did it. I know you were protecting us, drawing away the threat towards yourself, away from us. We have had a good life, I did my best to be a good Dad and protect her. It took a decade but I forgave you. I never forgot you”.

Sherlock grinned at him “How could you? We had the time of our lives! The running and chasing, the investigations and winding up Lestrade, back when we were young. It all seems so long ago but it keeps me warm at night. I have missed you every day John Watson”

John smiled back, a little dazed at Sherlock’s openness about his feelings. He was about to reply when they were interrupted by Eva popping her head around the door. She smiled when she spotted them lurking in the shadows.

“You found him then?” She made her way over to them.

“I did” John replied.

“I was talking to Sherlock”.

John spun round to look her in the eye “When did you, I mean how do you - ?”

“She invited me to come tonight John. I have been at all the presentations but didn’t want to upset you or detract from your big occasions, but I was there. Eva found me in Manchester, said she knew me instantly from your descriptions. From the pictures”.

“I told him everything Dad. Things have changed now, he deserved to know. Deserved to know you spent my entire childhood telling me bedtime stories about him. That I grew up with his photograph on the mantelpiece. That, as I become older, how you explained why you had never remarried, never even been on a date”.

“I never knew John. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should have seen it, but you were my conductor of light. There were, and still are, things I cannot see unless you translate them for me. It seems your daughter may also have inherited that gift. After we met I reached a decision to come here today, to tell you what I should have said thirty years ago, with no expectations or restraint. I love you, John Watson.

John said nothing. He took Sherlock by the hand and his daughter by the other, pulling them back into the function room. Chin out in determination, he beckoned to one of the photographers circling the room, capturing the crowd. The tables closest to the door burst into spontaneous applause at his return.

“I want you to take a photograph of me with the finest, bravest human being _I_ have ever known”. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him in tight, both men beaming.

John turned and gazed at Sherlock “Is it too late? Are we too old for adventures? I am too old for regrets anyway”.

Sherlock gave a small smile and shook his head “Never too old for adventures”.

John reached up and in front of twenty flashing cameras and a crowd of two thousand people, he brought Sherlock’s lips down to his own and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can read the lyrics that inspired me here [When We Were Young](https://play.google.com/music/preview/T5aous7wjnyahwcspqtzc72z4sy?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics&u=0#)


End file.
